


The Clock

by bamboozledeagle



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), PKNA - Paperinik New Adventures
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozledeagle/pseuds/bamboozledeagle
Summary: You know the Clock in the Ducktales Short that sends people forwards and backwards in time? There's a story behind it.No one has been able to time travel in the 23rd century for a while now and things seem to be calming down. Then Donald shows up as a teenager and throws everyone for a loop. Odin learns there's more to Donald's childhood than he thought.





	1. 12 A.M.

Of course.

OF course.

Of COURSE.

‘Go ahead, Donald.’ They said, ‘Touch the clock.’

‘Just move the hands however you want.’ They said, ‘Nothing bad will happen.’

Donald slams his head on the metal table in front of him, making the officer across from him jump. He doesn’t want to deal with this Time Police crap. It had been so freaking typical of him to land in the one place that not only knew about time travel but monitored it as well.

To make matters worse, the ‘I got teleported here by a creepy clock’ schtick wasn’t doing it for them. The officer kept getting up and whispering to people just outside the door every time Donald insisted on standing by his clock story.

Donald moves his face so his chin rests on the table instead of his forehead when the officer clears his throat.

A new officer walks into the interrogation room and stands at attention in front of the door. The officer that’s been with him since the beginning declares, “I’m going to ask you one more time.”

Donald sighs. He’s only fifteen, but he already feels like he’s too old for this bullshit. He’s been here forever and he’s exhausted.

“How did you get here?”

“My family hates me.”

The officer glances at the one by the door and at her nod, he says, “Continue.”

Donald narrows his eyes at the suspicious new behavior.

“We went to England…” He hesitates and the officer gestures for him to keep going, “Uncle Scrooge wanted to take us to a real haunted house for Halloween…”

Another nod. Another gesture.

“And we found this creepy clock, which legend says can send you through time…and I was told to touch it…so I did.” The officer nods and to Donald’s bewilderment, looks like he might actually believe him.

“Who told you to touch it?”

“Uncle Scrooge.”

“Why?”

“He said it was harmless…” Donald trails off, past memories of his adventures with Scrooge rear their heads. He sits up in his seat and leans back, “…he might have lied.”

“Where did you find the clock?”

“England.”

“Where in England?”

“Some haunted house in…Stonehouse, I think.” Donald crosses his arms and looks at the ceiling in thought.

“What year are you from?”

Imperceptibly, the officer at the door shifts. Donald has a sharp eye, however, and he catches it, but doesn’t say anything. It could mean nothing.

“1999.”

The officer pinches the bridge of his nose and mutter to himself.

“…So where are the aliens?” Donald mentally kicks himself, he always starts rambling when he’s nervous. There had to have been something better for him to have said. “Or Androids? That’d be cool. I’d like to meet an android.” He’d strangle himself if he could.

The woman at the door smiles a little. The guy in front of him gives him a baffled look.

“What? I saw Star Trek, I can be curious.” He defends himself.

“How do you know you’re in the future?” The guy challenges.

“You think the dinosaurs invented time travel?”

The guy sputters and Donald scowls. Typical. Judge a guy by his voice why don’t you? He may have failed calculus, but at least he’s not dumb enough to miss what the name ‘Time Police’ suggests. Besides, “This table says it was made in 2246.”

The lady is clearly fighting off laughter when the officer ducks his head under the table to check. He signs at her, ‘Is he stupid?’

He’s pleasantly surprised when she signs back, ‘He’s a little full of himself.’

The officer comes back up, grumbling.

“We’ll have to try to find the clock if we want to send you home. Unfortunately, we have our hands full.” He says, not sounds at all apologetic about it, “There’s really only one man that has the time and resources to help you. If he decides to help you.”

Donald shrugs just to watch the guy lose his smug aura.

“If you’ll come with me Mr. Duck.” The lady opens the door and he follows her out.

The Time Police station is very…futuristic. He’s not sure how else to describe it. It looks like the inside of a space ship and all the hallways look the same. If he hadn’t found himself whisked into the interrogation room the second he showed up, he would have known he was in the future from the interior design long before hearing the term Time Police.

“Wow, this place you got here is very, uh, very shiny.” He tries and relaxes a little when the lady grins, “Yes, it is.”

Other officers pass them, and he can’t help but think they all look like robots. Some have large guns on their hips and the sight of them makes him a little anxious. His chest hurts.

“Where are we going?” He coughs.

“I’m taking you to Mr. Eidolon, he’s the one who will help us send you back to your time.” The officer elaborates.

“If he’ll help me.” Donald sighs and gives the floor sad look, remembering the other officer’s words.

“He’ll definitely help you.” The lady sounds so sure, he lifts his head to look at her. They’ve made it to the entrance and a small part of him wonders at how empty the place is. This place is huge, surely there were other people around, maybe it’s a slow day?

“How do you know?”

“Intuition.” She grins.

She leads him to a funny looking car and he climbs in the passenger side. Glass pops into existence around them and he marvels at the world outside when the car takes to the sky. Even so high up, they’re surrounded by buildings. It seems like everything is a skyscraper in the future.

Cars pass them as they enter what he’s going to call a ‘skyway’ and they all look like bugs with their little wings and round bodies. The cars are mostly glass, the windshield stretching over the passenger’s heads and wrapping around the side of the cars.

“Whoa.” He presses his face against the window, “Where are we?”

“You know it as England. Today, it’s the Republic of United Nations.”

“Cool.” He enthuses, and remembers, “Oh! I never asked your name.”

“Lyla Lay.” She looks a little sad when she says it.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine! Just…” She glances at him, “memories.”

“Oh, alright.” He shrugs, it’s none of his business anyway. He goes back to looking out the window and a natural silence falls on the car.

He takes in the spots of greenery he can see, the flora offering a softer sight compared to the glaring metallic buildings. Small parks dot the ground and multiple buildings have gardens on their large balconies. Bubble like structures of various sizes cling to the side of some, and he can see multiple different trees inside them.

“Donald how old are you?” Lyla asks, cutting through his wonderment.

“Fifteen.” He answers, turning back to her, “Why?”

“The chief never asked you.”

“That guy was the chief?” Donald’s eyes widen in surprise, then his brows furrow, “How come he didn’t ask me my age?”

“He probably didn’t think it was important.” Lyla shrugs.

“So then, why did you ask?”

“Just curious.” Lyla grins, “I work as a reporter, I can’t help it.”

“You’re a policewoman and a reporter?” Donald looks at her in awe.

She grins and says, “We’re here.”

“Already?” The car lands in front of an enormous building that, he’s delighted to see, is mostly pink.

But…he kind of doesn’t want to leave the car. The building in front of them is much larger than the others he’s seen so far, and he sincerely hopes he’s not about to meet a trillionaire, because if he has to deal with a Scrooge he isn’t related to or a 23rd century version of Glomgold, he might just implode.

Lyla must notice how nervous and uncertain he is about meeting this Eidolon guy, because she starts to assure him, “Mr. Eidolon is a nice guy, you don’t need to be nervous.”

He coughs and followers her up to the front door. She pushes a button on the side of the door, “Mr. Eidolon, it’s Lyla Lay class 5y.”

“Lyla!” A voice comes from the door and Donald jumps at the immediate response, “Come in, Gamma will show you the way.”

The door opens, and a bulky robot stands on the other side of the threshold, holding a tray.

“Uh, hi?” Donald tries. The machine doesn’t respond, instead it turns and leads them into the building, “Was it something I said?”

They follow the robot into an elevator and he’s the only one who nearly falls over when it rapidly starts to ascend. They go up over a hundred floors and Donald’s ears pop at the change in height. When the doors open it’s to a very nice circular office. There are flowers sitting on every table and artwork hanging on every wall.

There’s a curved desk with a wall of glass windows behind it and two green chairs in front of it. Sitting at the desk is a duck with ridiculously long green hair and an atrocious green and black suit. The duck glances up when they step out of the elevator.

“Hello Miss Lay, how can I help you?” He greets her, cheerfully. His expression abruptly changes when he sees Donald. His eyebrows hit the ceiling, his eyes widen, and his mouth forms a thin line, “How is this possible?” He says to Lyla.

This was a bad idea. In Donald’s experience it’s never good when a person you’ve never met before reacts like they know you – especially if they’re a trillionaire. He ducks behind Lyla and laughs, a little freaked out, “Welp, that’s a great question and I don’t think I need to bother you with the details. Good talk, thank you for your time, goodbye!”

Lyla snags the back of his shirt before he can dive back into the elevator and he coughs, “No really Miss, I’ll just go find the clock myself. It’s probably in Scrooge’s mansion somewhere.”

“He’s fifteen.” Lyla states to Eidolon, ignoring Donald, “And he says he got here by moving the hands of a clock.”

“A clock?”

“Excuse you, that was a magic clock.” Donald growls, irritated and scared. He emphasizes the word ‘magic’ as he says it.

“How many other people know about this?”

Donald resigns himself to being ignored and sulks in Lyla’s grasp.

“Counting you two, only four.”

“We need to keep it that way.”

“Why?” Donald asks, leaning his head back to look at Eidolon. He’s afraid the answer will be somewhere along the lines of ‘So no one knows you’re missing when we murder you.’

“No one has been able to time travel for three years now.” Eidolon crosses his arms and closes his eyes in thought. Donald sags in relief, “Uh, whatever technobabble you’re about to spit at me to explain what’s up I feel it necessary to remind you that the clock was magic.”

Eidolon makes a humming noise, “It does make sense. Magic doesn’t use Tachyons, so it wouldn’t be affected by the Microcontraction…we need to find that clock.”

“So, you’ll help?” Donald clarifies, most of Eidolon’s sentence flew straight over his head, but he definitely understood the last part.

“Of course!” Eidolon exclaims like he was always going to help Donald no matter what the situation was, “I’ll have some of my scientists start tracking the clock down.”

“Perfect!” Lyla cheers, “Then, would you mind letting Donald stay with you until you find it?”

“What?” Eidolon and Donald question at the same time, both of them turning to Lyla in surprise as well as, in Donald’s case, alarm. Odin glances at him, concerned.

“The Time Police don’t have a place for him to stay.” Lyla explains.

“My house is open to him, if he wishes to stay with me.” They turn to Donald, leaving the final decision up to him alone.

“I-Well-“ This is a trap, it has to be. Eidolon recognized Donald at a glance and the last time that happened Glomgold nearly slit his throat. He’s scared of what will happen if he ends up spending more than a couple minutes alone with the tall duck in front of him. He plays with the bottom of his shirt, nervously. His chest hurts.

“Donald?” He flinches when Eidolon says his name and both of the other ducks in the room are looking at him with concern.

“Is something wrong?” Lyla asks, and she lets go of his shirt.

“I-I-” He glances around for an exit he can use to escape. He desperately wants to leave the situation he’s put himself in. He can’t tell Lyla about his worries in front of Eidolon and his gut is screaming at him that he’s not safe. A chill runs down his spine.

He coughs hard and when he stops, the world spins. He stumbles back and the robot, Gamma, catches him. Lyla says something he can’t focus on over another intense coughing fit. He stubbornly keeps his bill shut, he’s been coughing up mucus for a week now and he hates it when it lands on his hand feathers when he politely covers his mouth.

“Donald.” Eidolon is suddenly in front of him, “How long have you had Walking Pneumonia?”

“I don’t have pneumonia.” He croaks. It’s just a cold, Uncle Scrooge told him to walk it off. Eidolon and Lyla share a look.

“Why are you so scared of me?” Eidolon looks perplexed and a little hurt.

Donald sighs and before he can change his mind, he blurts out, “I never told you my name and you recognized me when I walked in.”

He feels like crap, his chest hurts, he’s exhausted, and he’s sick. If Eidolon does turn out to be Scrooge’s nemesis from the 23rd century, at the very least he’ll take him back to Scrooge to brag about his capture. Then, if Donald makes it out alive, he can go to sleep in his own bed for the rest of the day.

Eidolon is taken aback by his confession, “Ah, I’ll explain about that later. We need to get you a medical unit.”

“It’s just a cold.” Donald argues, but his words go unheeded for the umpteenth time today. Eidolon picks him up and carries him back to the elevator with Lyla and Gamma following. He spends most of the short trip trying not to breathe too deeply lest his chest pain gets worse.

“I thought it was just the stress of being sent into our time. I didn’t realize he was so sick.” Lyla says

“What do your scans say?”

“All symptoms of Walking Pneumonia, but further scans suggest he’s had it for at least a week.”

“He’s been like this for a week and he thinks it’s a cold?”

“You know how he is.”

He feels Eidolon sigh, “Yes, I do.”

His back touches something soft and he opens his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see he’s being placed on a large bed. He doesn’t spare the energy to look around, the day’s events hitting him like a boulder.

“Go to sleep Donald. It’s alright.” Eidolon’s words are all the permission he needs to pass out.


	2. 6 A.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Donald has his mind blown and his eye for detail is suddenly very important to the plot.

It doesn’t take long for the medical unit to arrive. Odin is the greatest man of the 23rd century, if he wants something then it is given to him quickly and efficiently. The unit is a simple box droid that hovers in the air. It’s one of Odin’s creations of course, so it’s state of the art technology. It scans Donald and confirms that he has Walking Pneumonia.

“What else can you tell me?” He asks. It is imperative that Donald survives his trip to the 23rd century, he is too important to let die and Odin will take every precaution to keep him alive.

“Subject developed atypical pneumonia from common cold. Damaged skin tissue suggests recent frostbite. Probability of frostbite induced cold induced pneumonia: 97%.”

“Frostbite? How did he get frostbite?” Odin and Lyla look at each other, confused.

“Tissue damage suggests immersion in ice for over 4 hours. Searching medical record…”

Alarm passes between the two androids. Donald is fifteen, what was he doing on ice for over four hours?

“Medical record found. Subject has zero cases of frostbite or hypothermia.”

“Do you have anything before the year 2000?”

“Negative Mr. Eidolon.”

Odin scowls.

“What can you tell us from a full body scan?” Lyla asks.

“Good thinking, Lyla.” Odin praises.

“Subject has evidence of trauma in ribs, phalanges of fingers, left tibia, right femur, right ulna, and right radius. Dermis tearing suggests rapid growth within the time frame of one year.” Odin and Lyla frown at the information. The droid continues, “Scar tissue from sword like weapon are located on left hip and left side of neck. Scar tissue from a 9 mm bullet is located on right shoulder.”

“What was he doing?” Lyla whispers, horrified, and her hand comes up to her bill in shock.

Odin pulls up his files on Donald and filters through them until he gets to the files from the background check he performed on his friend so long ago. “He was adventuring with his Uncle and sister.”

“Surely he didn’t get all of this from trips to old civilizations?”

“It’s…hard to believe.” Odin admits, “In any case, it’s not important. We need antibiotics for the pneumonia.”

“Not important?” Lyla reiterates, upset that Odin is so casually dismissing Donald’s damaged body, “Odin, he’s fifteen.”

“He survived.”

“At what cost?”

The two stare each other down. Lyla is glaring at her creator, something she never thought she’d do and Odin gives her a hard look in return.

“We cannot alter the past. You know that, you’re an agent of the Time Police.”

Lyla deflates, “I know. I just -”

“You want to help your friend.” Odin puts a hand on her shoulder, “Do not misunderstand. This is…hard for me too.”

Donald wheezes on the bed. He’s so small and weak and fragile. He’s a far cry from the adult he will become and the sight of their hero and friend so hurt is upsetting for the two of them. For a moment, the two take comfort in one another, sharing their grief because there is little else they can do.

“When you find the clock, we’re going to have to erase his memories.” Lyla says, softly. She looks Odin in the eyes, imploring him to understand the implication of her words.

“I will do my best.” Odin promises, “Return to your work Miss Lay, I will take it from here.”

“I know the way out.” She says, not unkindly, and she walks towards the door. She pauses in the threshold for one last glance at her friend before she takes her leave.

The room is silent save for Donald’s rasping breaths and the clatter of a pill bottle dispensed by the medical unit.

“Take pills daily, four hours apart. Do not take on an empty stomach. Side effects may include -”

Odin stops listening to the droid ramble on. He’s never had to take pills himself before and he ends up searching how to do so on the internet. He makes note of the number of pills and plans out a schedule. He pulls up a console from the side of the bed and orders a pill box.

He’s surprised when another bottle of pills is dispensed by the medical unit.

“What are those for?”

“Vitamin deficiency supplements. Symptoms of Pneumonia include loss of appetite, scans of subject confirm subject is low on vitamins.”

Oh right. Food.

Odin can consume food, but he’s not sure there’s enough in the mansion for a teenager. What do teenagers eat, anyway? Donald used to like fish and french fries, he wonders if that’s still true at his current age. It’s then that Odin realizes that he has no idea how to take care of a child let alone a younger version of his best friend. He’s going to need to do some research.

He gives the pill bottles to Gamma and instructs his butler to start organizing them according to the schedule he’s made. “And tell me if he wakes up.” He adds before walking out of the room to tell his people to start hunting down a clock that Scrooge McDuck might have owned.

He returns to his office and puts aside the mound of paperwork he has to look over, so he can start researching the basics of child care. He’s not sure how long Donald will be here but finding an old clock that only Donald has seen and that McDuck may or may not have taken back to his mansion is going to take at least twenty-four hours. 

He ends up reading multiple articles and books on long-term babysitting until he eventually falls asleep at his office desk. Delta shakes him awake not long after he drifts off, so he can move to his bedroom. He shuffles out of the elevator and kicks his shoes off in the entryway. He finally collapses on his bed with his suit still on and easily falls back asleep.

He wakes up again, this time with a shout, and he sprints back to the elevator to check on Donald. The stress and worry of the whole situation sent him tumbling into a nightmare where his friend had died in his sleep.

He leans against the elevator door frame in relief when he sees Donald still shallowly breathing in his bed. Coughs rack his small frame and he shivers violently. Odin walks over and pulls the covers over him, gently moving the duck into a more comfortable position. Donald sighs and relaxes a bit more into the bed. He burrows himself into the blankets and his head sinks into the pillow.

The pill box Odin ordered is sitting on the bedside table, the pills neatly organized like he had asked. The medical unit’s words replay in his mind. Lyla’s follow soon after.

He steps away from the bed.

He sits on the single couch that is situated across the room and pulls up the console next to it. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep.

He starts to flip through catalogues, looking for things he’s going to have to buy Donald. He’s going to need a toothbrush and a sleep shirt, maybe even an extra shirt for him to wear outside. Hopefully they can send Donald back within the next couple days…

He spends the rest of the early morning going through the paperwork he tossed aside last night. Most of the mansion’s consoles link up to his office desk so he can access his paperwork anywhere and while he much prefers working in his office, he can’t bring himself to stray too far from Donald.

The room is still dark and the soft light of the holopapers illuminate the little area he’s occupied in the room. He throws his legs up, so he can work while lying on the couch and he angles himself towards Donald, so he can glance up over his feet to see him.

He’s just signed a paper that authorizes the manufacturing of a new model of androids when he gets an email from the leader of the Clock Investigation. They’ve found more than a few matches, but he’s going to have to bring Donald by to see if any of them are the right clock. As soon as Donald wakes up, they’ll go over.

Dawn breaks through the windows behind him some time later. He adjusts the brightness of the papers as the dark of the room steadily retreats from the morning sun and the holodocuments gets harder and harder to see. Through the transparent papers, he sees Donald sit up in bed.

The duck rubs his eyes and yawns. Odin can pinpoint the exact moment Donald realizes he’s not in his own bed. He freezes and tenses up, his eyes darting around until they land on Odin, “Good Morning!”

Donald blinks at his cheerfulness, stunned that anyone can be so happy to be awake at such an early hour. “Have you been there all night?” He asks, visibly weirded out.

Odin shakes his head, “Only for the past couple of hours. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Um, sure?” Donald fiddles with the covers and coughs.

“There are pills next to you for the pneumonia.” He says once his friend is finished coughing, “Gamma organized them for you.”

He stands and walks back over to the bed. He picks up the pill box and hands it over to the teenager.

“Oh…thanks?” Donald takes the pill box and looks at it’s contents. The box is helpfully labeled with the days of the week and the hours of each day. Its color coded too which is nice.

“My people have some leads, if you don’t mind coming with me to my labs. I’ll have someone ready with breakfast when we get there.” Odin herds him out of bed and the duck drowsily follows him into the elevator with a nod.

He wakes up a bit more as they rapidly descend multiple floors to the garage.

“Whoa.” Donald says when he sees how many cars Odin owns, “Uncle Scrooge would have a heart attack if he had this many cars.”

“Not the materialistic type?” Odin asks in response, and Donald jumps as if he hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

“Definitely not.” Donald recovers and he trails after Odin as the taller duck walks towards a small black car, “I don’t think Glomgold or Rockerduck are either. You’re the first trillionaire I’ve met with so many…things.”

“Things?” Odin raises an amused eyebrow at the vocabulary Donald uses. They climb into the car and buckle in.

Donald huffs, “I mean your place looks like it’s actually lived in.” The car takes off and Donald looks overwhelmed by the number of buttons that are in front of him, “Scrooge doesn’t like decorations or sofas or tables or basically anything other than a bed and a kitchen full of canned food.”

Odin grins. Donald always did ramble when he was nervous and while it’s upsetting that he’s nervous around Odin, it’s a habit he’s familiar with.

“The only reason he buys anything fresh is because Mrs. Beakley makes him. Y’know I think as empty as his mansion is, the only reason it isn’t completely empty is because of her. He hates spending money on everything, even the heater.”

Odin shoots a concerned glance at Donald when he coughs.

“I swear we’d be eating stale bread and freezing our tail feathers off if Mrs. Beakley and Duckworth didn’t bug him about it.”

Vitamin deficiency.

Frostbite.

It’s ridiculous, Donald is telling him that because of this Beakley and Duckworth he isn’t freezing or starving, but…he worries. McDuck didn’t have the greatest reputation and the medical unit’s assessment has put him on edge.

“That’s your lab?” Donald says incredulously, breaking through Odin’s thoughts, and the teen’s eyes nearly jump out of their sockets at the sight of the humongous white construction in front of them.

‘Eidolon Industries’ is written in black along the top of the labs. It’s far larger than his mansion and there are towers spread around the building like castle spires that sport labels for different gates. Cars and trucks fly around it like bees, going to and from the different entrances to the labs. He owns four labs in total and this one is the biggest. It’s where most of his droids are built and where he conducts most of his business. Even the mayor doesn’t have a work place this enormous.

He parks the car in his usual space (an entire lot that exists solely for him) and Donald spends most of the journey down to the labs looking around in awe and scarfing down his poptart, “Della and Scrooge would be so mad if they found out about this.”

“Why is that?”

“Della would be ecstatic to be in the future. Scrooge would too, but I think he’d be jealous of you.”

Odin make a curious noise and Donald looks at him seriously, “Well correct me if I’m wrong but I think all of this is a bit more than a trillionaire can afford.”

Odin laughs, “Yes, indeed. He would no longer be the world’s richest duck.”

“Just out of curiosity, how much do you have over my Uncle?” Donald puts his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow while they wait for Odin’s personal elevator to arrive.

“I’m a Septillionaire.”

Donald’s brows furrow, “…Is that…seven zeroes?”

“No Donald, 24.”

“Ah, 24.” Donald nods, like he knew that all along, “24…24?!”

He’s still counting it out on his fingers when they finally reach the part of the lab where his Clock Crew is working.

“Mr. Eidolon!” The head of the operation waves at him from her desk.

“Geena!” He greets. The whole team is in the room, working at separate terminals side by side. One of them is on the phone and some are determinedly scanning the internet. The rest navigate through Ribbon Terminals, scanning the news for any sign of a magic clock.

“Here is what we’ve found so far.” Geena gets right down to business when he walks up and she pulls up multiple photos of different clocks on the wall behind her. Donald puts his fingers down, noticing the wall of clocks in front of him, and squints at them.

“It’s a brown clock.” He says out loud and with a flick of her hand, Geena dismisses every clock that isn’t brown.

“It’s short too, about my height. The hands were bronze and there weren’t any numbers on the face.”

They’re left with two identical looking clocks.

“It’s that one.” Donald points at one of them. Odin and Geena squint at the pictures, trying to find a noticeable difference.

“The pendulum was uneven, I think the blacksmith that made it hit it one too many times.”

“…You can see the uneven surface of the pendulum?” Geena looks at Donald incredulously. Donald shrugs, “Yeah, I don’t know why or how either. Grandma says Mom had a sharp eye too.”

Geena moves on, “This was taken from McDuck’s archives. Now that we know he took it into his possession, there are three places it could be.”

She makes a movement with her hands and pulls up a website for a museum. “Some of McDuck’s treasures are displayed in the Ancient’s Museum.”

“Scrooge donated his stuff? For free?” Donald frowns, disbelieving.

“No.” Geena says, “They were donated by his successors. Unfortunately, what wasn’t donated was either returned to their temples or stolen and put on the black market.”

“Oh, Scrooge would have a hissy fit if he found out about that.” Donald says.

“Well, Donald.” Odin turns to his friend, “How would you like to go see the world’s most mystical museum?”


	3. 3 P.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Museum adventures!

They stop at the house for a change of clothes.

Donald doesn’t argue, he’s so used to roughing it for multiple days with the same set of clothes on his back that he’s all but lost his sense of smell. If Eidolon says they need a change of clothes, he’ll take his word for it.

He’s still nervous around the other duck, but Eidolon has proven to be trustworthy so far. For one, he wasn’t killed in his sleep (which is nice), and he feels so much better after taking those pills. Adding in the fact that Eidolon is helping him look for the clock…whether for his own reasons or just to help Donald, he owes the eccentric duck a lot already. The least Donald can do is give him the benefit of the doubt.

When he gets back to his room, Gamma hands him a shirt that’s incredibly similar to the one he’s already wearing. The only difference is that the white highlights have been replaced with a yellow gold.

It’s also very comfortable.

The elevator dings and Eidolon steps out in a new suit that looks exactly like the one he was wearing before. Aside from the long black coat he’s wearing over the top of the suit, the septillionaire looks like he hadn’t even changed clothes.

“Ready?”

Donald hops into the elevator with him and soon enough, they’re back in the car.

“Do you normally drive yourself everywhere?” Donald asks. Odin is by far the weirdest affluent duck he’s ever met. He’s clearly not cheap - not like Scrooge and his competitors - and he’s not obsessive and crazy like Glomgold or Rockerduck (that’s not saying much though, the latter eats hats).

“I consider it a break from my work. Gamma is a good butler, but I’ve found that there’s a certain liberty to driving myself around.”

…definitely the weirdest.

They arrive at the museum and Donald is startled by how normal looking it is. It looks like the one in 1999 Duckburg, if not a little bit nicer to look at and in better condition. Odin walks through the front door and everyone inside reacts immediately.

“Why are they staring at you?” Donald ducks behind the taller duck when the large number of eyes start to look his way.

Odin shifts so Donald can hide more easily behind his coat, “Curiosity, I imagine.”

“Mr. Eidolon!” A dog walks up from behind the front desk, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I was wondering if I might have a look at the McDuck exhibit? I’m rather curious about its contents.”

“Of course, sir! Right this way!” The dog practically bends over backwards at the mere sight of Eidolon.

He leads them to the exhibit hall, “We have some items in the back if you and your guest would like to browse further!”

“We might take you up on that later, thank you.” Odin responds, and Donald hardly hears it. In front of him, on display, is hundreds of different artifacts including ones he recognizes from his most recent adventures. He sees the Green Armor, the Cap of Invisibility, the Sword of the Fairy Queen, the Sorcerer’s Staff, the Medusa Gauntlet, the Emerald Crown, and a lot more that he doesn’t recognize.

Memories come back at the sight of the treasures. Old wounds sting with every glance and he has no desire to approach any of them.

He rubs his neck and coughs.

“Well we have some time, no harm in looking around.” Odin puts a hand on his shoulder, “There are stories behind each of these items but I’m afraid they’ve been put under lock and key for safety reasons.”

Donald glances back around at the display cases and he’s surprised to find that none of the treasures even have a name tag, “Why?”

“It wards off thieves, very few people know if half of these are even real.”

“Hmph, they look real to me.” Donald frowns and crosses his arms.

“How can you tell?” Odin asks, curious.

“Easy. I broke both my hands beating that thing off its owner last year.” He points at the Green Armor with a scowl, “The fella was completely looney, he kept killing people even after he died. For a ghost, he put up one hell of a fight.”

“What became of him after you took his armor?” Odin examines the armor with a steady gaze.

Donald shudders, “He’s still there in the armor. It’s cursed for sure, but he can’t materialize himself anymore. As long as you don’t put it on, you’ll be fine.”

Odin must see something when he looks down to meet his eyes, because the next thing he knows the duck has changed his mind about looking around. Donald nearly gets whiplash from how fast Odin summons the dog from before, flips through the list of artifacts, and sweeps Donald over to a different part of the Museum.

“There’s one clock here and it’s not the one we’re looking for, let’s go see the rest of the museum.” He says rapidly. Donald wonders at the odd behavior when she stops him in his tracks.

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. His jaw hits the floor and stars form in his eyes. It’s a nine-masted junk over four hundred (400) feet long and it’s gorgeous. He knows exactly what it is the second he sees it and he’s in love.

“Do you know what that is!?” He squeals at Odin, bouncing up and down in excitement. He doesn’t wait for his companion to respond, “That’s a ship from China’s Treasure Fleet! The one Zheng He commanded! I thought they were all destroyed!”

Odin gives him a grin he doesn’t see, “They were, but we have Time Agents in every period. We managed to sneak one off at the behest of the Historian’s Committee.”

“It’s so cool! You know they had almost thirty thousand (30,000) crew members in the armada?” Donald exclaims and then he sees the small form of a single-hulled outrigger canoe and he falls in love all over again, “Look at this! You can see the level of craftsmanship that went into it! The Hawaiians passed down their skills from generation to generation, and they were amazing sailors too!”

He darts from one boat to another gushing about each and every one of them, he’s never been this excited in his life. Odin never once says anything that discourages him, instead he asks questions about the boats and lets Donald talk his ear off. Donald forgets about the pneumonia and the Clock for hours as they make their way through the exhibit. He doesn’t realize how much time has passed until they reach the end and he sees the time.

He blushes, embarrassed, “Whoops.”

“No need to apologize Donald.” Odin dismisses with a grin, “Your knowledge on sailing is impressive.”

“You…you think?” Donald loves sailing and everything to do with the sea, but rarely has it ever benefitted him on an adventure. All Scrooge really cares about is that he knows how to sail and rarely does anyone want to hear him go on a lecture about it. No one has ever called his knowledge on the subject ‘impressive’ before.

He bashfully smiles at the ground, blushing harder than before.

They get back in the car and head back towards Odin’s mansion. In the comfortable silence between them and in the gentle warmth of the sun, Donald starts thinking about how much he owes Odin again.

“Thanks.” He whispers.

“For what?” Odin glances up from the car in front of them.

“Everything.” Donald fiddles with the bottom of his shirt. He stutters, “You didn’t have to – with the – uh - pills – and the clock. Just – thanks.”

He can feel Odin’s gaze on him and he sounds genuine when he says, “You’re welcome.”

There’s a moment of stillness, where everything is enveloped by a soothing calm and in that moment, Donald begins to think that being stuck in the future isn’t all that bad. Sure, he’s been separated from everything he’s ever known, and he may not ever be able to get back, but at least he’s got help.

The moment is ruined when the car lurches violently as something hits them from behind.

“What in the world!?” Odin yelps. Donald twists in his seat and sees a gaping hole in the back of the car. Two pairs of fingers are latched onto the bottom of it and a person pulls themselves up. They take out a gun.

“Odin!” He shouts, alarmed, and a blast of light barrels past him, narrowly missing his head when he ducks. Odin snarls and floors it. The jarring movement nearly sends their intruder back out the hole.

Donald squeaks when they catch themselves by grabbing the backseat.

Odin makes a hard right turn and the intruder stumbles to one side. They raise the gun again and point it at Donald. He doubts they’ll miss this time, he’s already cowering behind the seat - there’s nowhere for him to hide.

The sight of the intruder is obscured by a dark arm as Odin lets go of the wheel and throws himself over Donald. He hears a crunch and the sound of glass shattering. The grip Odin has on him is unyielding and Donald clings to the other duck’s coat with everything he has.

They’re both sent flying forward still holding each other.

He’s not sure if he blacks out, but the next thing he sees is purple. He hears a crackling noise and sluggishly turns to see the remains of the car. He’s on the hood, the two seats that he and Odin had previously occupied are in tatters right behind him. The car’s interior is a wreck, wires hang out every which way and there’s smoke everywhere. He coughs harshly and tries to get up.

Shards of glass fall off him as he attempts to sit up and something stops him from getting very far. He looks down at the source and sees a dark arm that leads back to a dark coat that leads back to, “Odin!”

His friend is lying unconscious on his side. He’s next to Donald with his back facing the wall the car hit. He took the full brunt of the impact.

Donald starts to shake him, “Odin get up!”

The crackling noise gets louder, and he turns back around to see the source of all the smoke. The backseat is on fire, the flames crawling up it and licking the sides. He hadn’t seen it earlier from all the smoke, but now that he has he starts to panic.

“Odin come on! You have to get up!” He starts to frantically pat his cheek with an increasing amount of strength every time he doesn’t react.

Flames in a car are never a good sign.

“Odin plea-” He’s cut off by another coughing fit, this one stronger than the last. His throat and his eyes burn from the smoke coming from the HUD. He starts wheezing painfully and every breath he takes hurts.

Odin groans, his eyes fluttering open, and he hisses in pain. An arm leaves Donald to reach behind the taller duck and rub the back of his head.

Donald sags into his friend’s chest in relief, happy to see the other duck alive, “Odi-” He can’t even say the duck’s name before he’s interrupted again by his stupid lungs.

If he could physically fight smoke, he would. He can hardly speak without being thrown into a series of painful, hacking coughs and it’s starting to really irritate him.

“Donald!” The duck holding him cries, “Are you hurt? Where’s the assassin?” Odin looks up to see the smoldering car behind Donald. He picks the teenager up and carefully slides off the hood of the car. He backs away from it carefully and Donald can see that they’ve crashed into an alleyway.

“Did you see the assassin in the car?” Odin asks, warily eyeing what can hardly be called a car anymore.

Donald is nothing if not stubborn - screw his lungs and screw the smoke, he’s going to speak, “N-” Or maybe not, he thinks as he dissolves into another set of agonizing coughs.

The car explodes.

Odin darts around the corner with Donald in tow. Scraps of metal fly everywhere and Donald is very grateful they managed to get off the hood in time.

“Well,” Odin blinks at the black carcass of his car, “I think it’s safe to say we’re both ready to go home.”

Donald, through his loud and painful wheezing, gives him a small grin.


	4. 6 P.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin is not happy.

Odin walks them both home. They hadn’t been far from his mansion when the car crashed, and the walk takes less than twenty minutes. Donald doesn’t speak the entire time. He signs to Odin during the first five minutes of their walk, asking him if he’s okay.

“I’m fine, are you? Your cough sounds worse.” Odin frets.

Donald starts to sign ‘Yes’ when his body begins to shake from a brutal coughing fit. When it stops his face is flushed and he’s rasping with every breath. He frowns and it’s a testament to how horrible he must feel when he reluctantly signs, ‘No.’

It takes all of Odin’s willpower not to sprint home. Donald has always been infuriatingly stubborn and it’s a bad sign that he’s admitting how terrible he feels.

He’s shaking in Odin’s arms and the smoke from the car has killed whatever progress he had been making with the antibiotics. Every time he breathes an awful grating noise cuts through the air and has Odin debating the pros and cons of turning his audio receptors off. It hurts to listen to and it indicates that Donald’s pneumonia has gotten worse.

He sends word ahead to Gamma to have the medical unit ready when they return.

The first thing he does when they get back is bring Donald back to his bed. The medical unit is waiting for him when he gets there. It confirms that Donald’s lungs have indeed fallen into decline due to the smoke and to make matters worse the teenager now has a fever. The unit dispenses an oxygen mask that will filter out the remaining smoke in his lungs and help Donald breathe easier. There’s not much to be done about the fever.

The second thing Odin does is call the police.

He lets the younger duck know where he’s going, signing a quick ‘I’m going to call the police’ before he leaves Donald in Gamma’s care while the manufacturer makes a very angry call.

“Mr. Eidolon!” The holographic image of the Chief of the Time Police flickers into being. The green image sits across from his desk in one of the chairs.

“Chronocommander.” He says soberly, doing his best to push down the part of him that is distinctly Two.

“What can I do for you? Is this about the new droid model?” The commander leans forward in his seat, ready to start discussing the matter.

“No.” He states coldly, “I want to talk about how less than a half an hour ago my friend and I were nearly killed by one of the leaders of the Organization.”

The man in front of him reels back, “What?!”

“Why was the public not informed of her escape from your prisons?” Odin demands with a glare.

“We didn’t want to cause mass panic! We’ll send a squad over right now!”

“Don’t bother commander.” Odin snaps, raising a hand to stop him, “She’s long gone, and the crime scene is a smoldering car on twenty first and Obama. And before you go - ” Odin gives the commander a wicked glare, stopping him from getting up, “I suggest you and your superiors rethink what qualifies certain information to be withheld from the people it directly effects. I am not happy that you decided to save face rather than lives.”

Odin cuts the line before the man can respond.

He sighs and puts his head in his hands, rubbing at the oncoming headache. Things will be a lot more difficult with the Organization running around.

Odin narrows his eyes in thought. They’ve never targeted him before, why now? What are they after? He has nothing of real value to them and their previous actions show that they much prefer stealing from different time periods. Of course, they can’t do that anymore thanks to the microcontraction. No one has been able to time travel for –

His emotions fluctuate all at once, confusion changing to anger changing to denial changing back to confusion until finally, he settles on resignation.

He’s going to need to keep a close eye on Donald. It’s imperative that they find the clock and send him home soon. He calls Geena.

“The clock was not at the Museum. What else have you found?” He starts immediately, almost snapping at her the second the line connects.

“We’re tracing back the origins of the clock. If McDuck had it put back in its original resting spot, we’ll know, but Sir?” Geena hesitates.

“What is it?” He prompts, forcing the stress off his face. He’s not mad at Geena, whatever anger he holds towards the Time Police shouldn’t be taken out on her.

“Someone has just posted the clock on the black market.”

“A sale?” He asks, incredulously. The timing couldn’t be worse.

“Yes, Sir. Would you like me to look into it?”

“Yes, thank you. Get me as much information about it as you can and keep looking into the clock’s origins.” He orders and he’s about to cut the line when Geena stops him.

“Sir?” She asks.

“Yes?”

“Is Donald…feeling better?” Geena shifts awkwardly on her feet.

Her worry doesn’t exactly surprise Odin, he had anticipated Geena would remember some of her past life. He had used the core from the original Geena to build her after all and it’s possible some things have slipped into her memory.

Her predecessor held the Avenger in great esteem and no doubt word has spread among some of the androids about Donald’s condition. Quite a few of them consider Donald an ally and friend thanks to the first Geena’s words and firsthand accounts.

It’s why he tasked her with finding the clock in the first place. He knows that she would give her life to save Donald, she already has.

“We were attacked on our way back from the Museum by a leader of the Organization. The car crashed, and we are both, for the most part, fine, however, the smoke inhalation has made his pneumonia worse. I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep him safe until he has returned home.” Odin tells her.

Geena goes rigid at the information, a fire lighting in her eyes, and Odin suspects she won’t rest until she finds the clock, “Understood, thank you sir.”

She ends the communication line herself.

A part of Odin is relieved that Donald has at least one other person besides him and Lyla that is determined to get him home. Someone much more competent than the Time Police (minus Lyla). He scowls at the thought. The commander has no idea how important it is that they keep Donald safe. His incompetence would be laughable if it weren’t so infuriating. 

He’s interrupted from his brooding by an alert from Gamma. He and Donald are on the balcony.

Odin heads up and wanders through the garden looking for his friend and his butler. He finds them close to the edge, Donald sitting on Gamma’s shoulders, and signing to the butler while gesturing to the stars.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, a little sad at the sight of his friend. He’s rudely reminded how sick the young duck is thanks to the oxygen mask attached to his face. Donald looks like hell and the tired smile on his face – the one that grows when he sees Odin – makes him look a little worse in Odin’s mind. His smile should be effortless and full of energy. He shouldn’t be straining himself. 

Donald signs ‘I’m showing Gamma the stars.’

He uses the sign for the letter G and moves it around in the shape of a gamma for Gamma’s name.

Odin huffs a laugh, leave it to Donald to treat an android like any other person. It’s a character trait that’s earned him powerful allies such as Geena and Odin himself.

He thinks if more people were like Donald, his creations would have an easier time with the biologicals.

“Which ones?” He asks.

‘All the ones I know from my time.’

“How many is that?”

‘I’ll show you.’

Donald points somewhere out past the city, ‘The three bright stars in a line right there, do you see them?’ 

Odin knows the constellation already, he can name every constellation and star in the night sky with just a glance, but he’s never participated in stargazing before. He indulges Donald, “Yes, I see them.”

‘That’s Orion’s belt and if you follow it like a straight line south you can see the hunting dogs.’

Donald points out Ursa Major and Ursa Minor as well as the Summer Triangle and Hercules using techniques Odin hadn’t thought of. The android just needs to look at a star to see its name and constellation, but Donald, who is a biological and cannot do such things, uses the stars themselves to guide him from one constellation to another.

‘My Uncle Ludwig likes stars.’ Donald yawns while he signs the word Scientist with his hands both signing L for his Uncle’s name before he continues, ‘He said if I’m going to be a sailor I should know some astronomy, but I think he just wants someone to stargaze with him.’

“Do you often go stargazing with him?”

‘No, I don’t see him a lot. I’m mostly with Uncle Scrooge, but he doesn’t really care for stars unless they’re related to an adventure or a mystery.’ Donald signs the word Money with one hand in the S sign.

“How often do you see him?”

‘I live with him, so I see him a lot, but he mostly hangs out with Della.’ He makes the sign for airplane.

‘Scrooge likes her better.’ Donald slumps over Gamma’s head after the butler nods when he quickly asks if it’s alright.

“Why do you think that?” A feeling of dread swells up in Odin’s gut.

Donald shrugs and doesn’t meet Odin’s gaze. He rests his chin on his arms and stares out into the distance sadly.

“Donald, why do you think that?” Odin persists, and he steps closer, but very deliberately gives the teen some space by not touching him.

Donald looks down and signs, ‘Everyone likes Della better than me. She’s smart, funny, kind…she’s literally my better half.’

Warning bells start to go off in Odin’s head.

‘She doesn’t lose her temper all the time or break things. She’s not a jinx, bad luck, stupid, worthless, - ’

He’s crying when Odin reaches out and seizes his hands in a loose grip to stop them from signing. The teen gives a weak, pathetic cough and sniffles. Gamma silently grabs ahold of Donald’s legs, attempting to help in his own way.

“Donald, listen to me.” Odin begs, “You are not worthless or stupid or any of those things that you think you are.”

Donald gently pulls his hands free, ‘Why are you helping me?’

Odin blinks confused at what he perceives as a change in topic.

‘I thought it was for Uncle Scrooge, he’s got so many enemies I can’t keep track of them all, but then you saved me when the car crashed and you’re helping me find that stupid clock and I don’t – I can’t understand why.’

Lyla’s imploring face enters his vision, ‘When you find the clock, we’re going to have to erase his memories.’

How did she know it would come to this?

“Gamma, will you put him down and leave us?”

The butler gently sets Donald on the ground and dutifully walks away. Odin can tell his butler is concerned when he keeps glancing back at them.

Odin kneels down to Donald’s level, the younger duck staring determinedly at the ground.

“You were my first friend.”

Donald’s head shoots up and wide eyes search Odin’s for some kind of trick or lie.

“For the longest time you were my only friend and even after I met other people you were always my best friend. You were the first person to treat me as an individual and I have never learned more from anyone than I have from you. I used to have a very fact-based mentality, but you Donald - ” He takes his friends hands, “- you taught me the difference between doing what is logical and doing what is right. I have never forgotten that.”

Donald is listening with rapt attention and there’s some doubt in his eyes as if he can’t believe Odin’s words are true.

“I am the person that I am today because I knew you.” Odin says sincerely with a steady voice. He needs Donald to hear this, to understand that he’s not worthless.

“You are amazingly brave, unwaveringly kind, incredibly strong, and believe it or not you are very intelligent in your own way.”

Donald is crying again, overwhelmed by the words and the fever.

“You are not worthless.”

Donald throws himself into Odin’s arms and Odin doesn’t hesitate to embrace the child. Donald cries into his shoulder and in return Odin holds him tightly, wrapping his arms around Donald. The duck is so small compared to Odin, he’s barely visible to anyone that might be watching them.

Odin has seen biologicals embrace and soothe each other on television and in movies. He tries to imitate what he’s seen by rubbing Donald’s back and letting him cry himself out. Once he’s done, the teen doesn’t leave the hug and Odin doesn’t want to make him. They sit in under the stars, keeping each other company and Donald croaks, “He pushed me into a portal.”

Odin looks down at Donald’s shaking form, the pneumonia rearing its head once Donald provoked his lungs by speaking. When he’s done coughing, he continues, “Came out in a block of ice.”

Odin nearly stops the duck from talking when another horrible coughing fit takes ahold of the smaller duck, “Left me there for hours.”

More coughing.

“Thought it was just a cold.”

Odin really does not want to send Donald back.

“How long were you in the ice?” He says calmly, rage burning in his heart.

“Don’t know.” Donald says, softly in his shredded voice, “Blacked out.”

If he were still confined to the tower, his green interface would have turned red like Two. One isn’t one for violence, but Two is. Odin is both. If he ever meets McDuck face to face, he might just deck him right in the bill.

“They said they were sorry, but…” The grip Donald has on his suit tightens, “…it hurt.”

He’s definitely going to deck him in the bill.

A cold wind cuts straight through their clothes and both ducks shiver at the same time, “Let’s go back inside.”

They release each other and go inside. Gamma has tea and hot chocolate waiting for them on the table.

The balcony floor is the Mansion’s living room with the garden taking up a little over half of it. Inside there are couches and tables to lounge on with interfaces nearby for entertainment. Gamma has place the beverages across from each other on one of the smaller tables. In between them is an old chess set.

Odin makes a note to praise Gamma the next time he has a word with his butler.

‘Do you play?’ Donald signs, taking the seat with the hot chocolate.

“I used to. A very stubborn duck was convinced he could beat me.” Odin takes the seat with the tea. Ah, Green Tea, his favorite.

‘Did he?’

“Only once.” Odin reluctantly admits. In his defense, he had been distracted by Everett, and Donald’s wild strategies always threw him off. He never heard the end of it.

‘I’ve never played.’

“Would you like to learn?”

Donald looks surprised at the offer and slowly nods.

“The first rule of chess is: white always goes first.” Odin takes a sip of hot tea and pushes a button on the corner of the chess board. The chess pieces flicker to life in front of them. Donald curiously inspects the different pieces.

“Would you like to make the first move?”


	5. 9 P.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one likes uninvited guests.

Donald is so bored. It’s been an hour since Odin left and he’s already run out of things to do.

It’s been almost a full day since he lost spectacularly to Odin at their game of chess and about half a day since his fever broke. Whatever meds the 23rd century has, they sure are strong. Maybe he can sneak some back home for when he’s shoved into another portal.

Donald rolls over so he’s face down on the couch. He’s in the indoor porch part of the balcony floor. The garden and the blue sky provide a great atmosphere for a nap, but he’s been sleeping off his fever for too long to have any desire to fall back asleep. Now he’s just bored.

He’s explored the mansion top to bottom, he has no desire to play anymore chess, and there aren’t even any books in the mansion that he can read because they’re all filled with advanced science jargon.

He should have been more insistent about going with Odin to the black market, but the older duck had sworn that it wouldn’t be any more entertaining.

“It’ll be just like a business meeting. I think you’d find more enjoyment in staying at the mansion.” Odin said, even though they both knew he was lying.

Donald had eventually given in when the duck had cited how worried he would be if Donald came along, “If something happened to you I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Please stay here.”

Curse Odin and his puppy eyes. He’s just as bad as Della. Though usually she’s encouraging Donald to do the exact opposite of ‘staying safe’.

‘Go on Donald, touch the clock.’

Donald groans, he loves his sister but one of these days she’ll be the death of him. Literally. Both her and Scrooge.

He coughs.

There’s a part of him that wants to stay in the 23rd century. That small traitorous part whispers to him that Della and Scrooge probably wanted him gone anyway. By death or by time machine, it didn’t matter to them.

He shakes his head. No, he knows they care about him and besides, family helps family. Even if that means being shoved into a portal or turning the hands on a clock. He has to go back, but…if he’s honest, he’s never felt safer.

In Scrooge’s mansion, he always dreaded the moment Scrooge would announce their next adventure. He’d wait with baited breath that would turn into full blown anxiety the longer the family went without an adventure of some sort. Sometimes Della could soothe him with the distraction of a game, or Mickey and Goofy would put him at ease with a little get-together. Then it would all come rushing back and he’d feel the ghost of a hand on his back or his throat would tickle with the memory of seeds being shoved down his throat.

Here, he doesn’t have to worry about an adventure. Despite the assassination attempt yesterday, the only thing he had suffered from was smoke inhalation largely because Odin had protected him from the car crash. It was odd that his friend had so easily shaken the impact off but maybe that was just future technology. The car could have been designed to shield its occupants or Odin’s suit could double as body armor. He’s just glad his friend wasn’t hurt.

‘You were my first friend.’

That was a weird sentence to think about. If what Odin said was true, then the guy has to be over a hundred years old. Are people immortal now? And how did he meet Odin in the first place? How long were – would they – be friends? They must have been close, or the duck had been giving him too much credit when he spoke about how influential Donald was on his life.

Donald thinks about it for a moment. Yeah, he must have been exaggerating. Della’s the one who changes people for the better, not Donald.

‘Just move the hands however you want.’

Della is the one with the better heart, not Donald.

‘Nothing bad will happen.’

Why does she do that to him? Why is it that she’s constantly looking out for everyone but Donald? Why is she always encouraging him to – is it him? Is it his fault?

It must be.

He has to be doing something wrong, but he’s not sure what.

A sharp, loud wailing noise comes from the elevator, cutting through his thoughts, and Gamma comes hurtling out. The butler races over to him and signs rapidly, ‘You must hide.’

“Huh?” He says intelligently.

‘Intruders. You must hide.’ Gamma grabs his arm and pulls. He leads Donald over to the wall.

“Are you serious? I didn’t hear anything!” Donald panics. Gamma detaches a nearly invisible panel, revealing large tubes and pipes. He herds Donald into it and the teen slips between the gap in the tubes. It’s dark and a little cramped. Gamma reattaches the panel without warning and Donald yelps at the sudden darkness.

The tubes shudder and the sound of an explosion comes from the direction of the elevator. Sporadic noises fill the air and it doesn’t take Donald long to recognize the universal sound of a firefight. He clings to the pipe beneath him and the gunshot wound on his shoulder gives him a rude reminder of how it felt when he got it.

He hears something clang to the ground and he sincerely hopes it’s not Gamma.

The sounds of the fight die off and he hears some voices on the other side of the panel. He can’t make out what they’re saying, and it feels like an eternity before they fade. He waits as long as he dares, he has to know what happened to Gamma, but he’s scared of the people that might be waiting for him.

He pushes on the panel and it falls to the ground with a clatter.

The room is destroyed. There are scorch marks everywhere, the wall across from the shambled remains of the elevator is covered in black blast marks. Pieces of furniture and metal are scattered all over the floor, the couch he had been laying on looks like swiss cheese, the table he and Odin had played chess on is splintered and on fire, and the once soothing atmosphere of the room has been twisted and broken into something horrid. Donald coughs.

In the middle of it all is a broken Gamma.

The butler is sparking, frayed wires hanging out of his chest and head. His chest plate has been ripped open and his arm looks like something blew up in it.

“Gamma!” He runs over and kneels by his side. He doesn’t know what to do. If Gamma were human he could start by stopping the blood flow from his wounds. Donald doubts that putting a cloth over the frayed wires will do any good.

“What do I do?” He asks the butler and he’s not even sure Gamma is still alive, but he has to try, “Gamma, come on, what do I do? I don’t know how to help you.”

Gamma’s arms screech as he slowly moves them.

‘Hide’

“No, I’m not just going to leave you here!” Donald yells angrily, “Tell me how to help you!”

‘Hide’

“Fine.” Donald snaps and he moves behind the butler’s head, shoves his hands under his armpits, and lifts.

“Good grief you’re heavy.” Donald grunts and he hauls Gamma over to the panel. He carefully tucks him into the spot between the pipes, doing his best not to cause the android anymore damage. Gamma tries to lift his head and damaged arm to sign at him, but without his other hand, Donald can’t really understand what he tries to say. He decides to ask later and climbs into the hiding spot once Gamma is fully in. He squishes himself into what little room is left and pulls the panel back into place. 

“Shoulda done this at the start.” Donald grumbles. His back is to Gamma and he’s afraid if he tries to turn around to check him he’ll get stuck or fall on top of the poor butler. The sparks from the wires offer a bit of light in their hidey hole, but as much as he’d like to check on his friend, he doesn’t want to risk it.

He’s not sure how long they wait in the hole. Each second feels like an eternity and only the soft whirring noise from Gamma’s body fills the darkness. By the time he hears voices again he’s starting to get claustrophobic.

He can’t make out the voice any easier than before, but it sounds incredibly familiar.

“-ald! -onald!” It’s a woman’s voice and it sounds just like - “Lyla!” He shouts and kicks the panel open again. “We’re over here!”

He wiggles out and Lyla whirls around from her spot by the garden. She’s got a gun on her hip and a helmet on her head just like the Time Police he saw when he first arrived. She runs over and starts checking him over.

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Lyla, Lyla! I’m fine!” He brushes her off and gestures at Gamma.

“I didn’t know what to do so I pulled him in with me!” He tries to explain, “Is he – will he be okay?”

Lyla glances into the hiding spot and smiles softly, “All droid units have self-repair functions. He’ll be alright in a couple more hours.”

Donald sighs in relief.

“What happened to the guys that broke in?” Donald asks at the same time.

“We don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.” Lyla admits and her hand twitches towards her gun when a painting falls off the wall with a loud crash. She remains alert as she says, “The others will be here soon, I’ve notified them of our location.”

Donald watches her carefully, “How did you know we were in trouble?”

“We got a distress signal from Gamma and the house. We came as quick as we could.”

He nods, accepting the answer. He turns back to Gamma and Lyla helps him pull the droid out. They’ve just hauled his shoulders out when someone grabs the back of his shirt.

“I’ll take this.” A gruff voice says.

“Raider don’t – ” Lyla reaches for him but it’s too late. Gamma looks at him with scared eyes and it’s the last thing he sees before the world spins.

“Let me go you – ” He twists in the person’s grip and swings his elbows back until he hits soft feathers. He curses the entire time, fighting every step of the way. He doesn’t know where they are now, and he doesn’t care. Whoever grabbed him is going to suffer.

A hand enters his field of vision and he doesn’t think twice before sinking his teeth into it. He’s got five years of dealing with the Beagle Boys, Magica, and Glomgold. The kidnappers don’t stand much of a chance.

He somehow gets free of the hold on his shirt and pulls every feather, claws at every arm, and throws a fist at every face that enters his vision of red. He doesn’t stop snarling and roaring out curses.

“Come here you sack of $*^& I’ll tear your @#!&$% throat out, I’ll kick your *&%& so hard your grandchildren will feel it, I’m going to rip your arm off and shove it up your *@!%#%^@!& you #$%! – you $^%*@#$ piece of #@$^*!”

When the anger finally clears, his knuckles are split and he’s wheezing. Three people are on the ground beaten and bloody and a couple others are backed up with their arms raised in a placating manner. As if that will spare them from his wrath.

He growls when one of them approaches. He’s aware enough now to notice where he is and what’s in front of him. 

He’s back in Stonehouse, the old and weathered house he and his family had found the clock in is covered in vines and overgrowth. Half the house isn’t even standing, there’s just a frame, and he wouldn’t even know he was back in the house if it weren’t for one thing. A simple brown and otherwise uninteresting piece of history that hasn’t aged a day since he last saw it.

Right in front of him, past the three groaning birds on the floor, past the animals that are treating him like a wild animal, and standing untouched by time is the clock.

“What is this?” He snarls. A dog steps forward, she’s draped in black and the dangerous glint in her eye is eerily similar to the eyes that belonged to the assassin that attacked him and Odin.

“You have been brought here by the Organization.” She states, “We have a proposition for you.”

“I don’t make deals with my kidnappers.” Donald hisses.

“Answer our questions, tell us how the clock works, and we’ll send you home.” She continues, ignoring him. 

“Fat chance.” He spits.

“You misunderstand.” The woman says coldly, “You can give us what we want and we can let you go home. Or…” She snaps her fingers and suddenly there are multiple guns pointed at him, “We can take it by force and leave your body to rot with the house.”

Oh phooey. 

His legs start to shake. This is very bad. These people are clearly criminals and he doesn’t want to give them what they want, but he also doesn’t want to die. 

Think Donald! What would Scrooge and Della do?

Something smart probably. 

That’s never been his biggest strength but he can give it a go. 

There was that one time Uncle Scrooge called a ghost’s bluff about killing him.

Donald looks at all the guns. He doubts that will work for him here. 

There were other times where Scrooge found a chandelier he could drop on Glomgold or a trap door to escape from Ma Beagle.

He takes in all the green around him and decides that’s probably not a viable option. 

He curses. He doesn’t have any idea about what to do.

‘That’s the thing Lad, I was never just going to cooperate with her.’ His Uncle’s voice enters his head, it was something he’d told Donald a long time ago when Magica had the upper hand. ‘I waited until I had my chance and up until that moment I did what she wanted.’

‘I cooperated with her until I didn’t.’

He could try that. 

“Fine.” He snaps, “What do you want to know?”

The woman doesn’t miss a beat, “How does the clock work?”

Well @#$%.


	6. 11 P.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter in the series.

Odin Eidolon is a patient man.

When he first came to life, Two’s seemingly unending anger was tempered with his fusion with One. This resulted in a reasonable patience level. Of course, his version of reasonable is a sharp contrast to any biological. He’d waited a century to bust the Raider for a crime he witnessed the rooster commit back in the 21st century. He’d waited twice that just to see his best friend again.

So yes, he is a patient man, but Two’s temper didn’t just disappear. It waited like a simmering volcano, ready to erupt once Odin’s patience ran out and there were few people who walked away from that anger in one piece after seeing it. Oh people had seen him become irritated and short with those who deserved it, but very few witnessed the devastation lying in wait at the end of his fuse.

That was where the Chronocommander was now.

“Commander.” a voice of steel and ice cuts through the chaos of the crime scene. Everyone, even the droids, stop in the wake of Eidolon’s blatant animosity. The atmosphere drops from one of mayhem to one of tension and the sea of firefighters and Time Police parts as biologicals and droids alike dive out of Eidolon’s path.

The higher-ranking officers and firefighters closest to the burning mansion recover quickly and go back to scanning Eidolon’s mansion, directing and communicating with the first responders inside. The rest watch as the Chronocommander tries and fails to find an excuse to exit the scene.

Eidolon walks through the parted sea of officers, his long coat flapping ominously behind him and his eyes boring holes into the Commander’s head.

Whatever happens next, it’s unlikely the Commander will emerge from this in one piece.

“What,” Eidolon stops just in front of the Commander, the two birds standing across the street from Eidolon’s mansion.

“is,” the Commander is visibly smaller than the septillionaire.

“this?” Eidolon is asking a question, he’s demanding an answer.

The Commander sputters, shaking in his shoes and spouting off what is supposed to be excuse after excuse but comes out as a stuttering mess. “I – well you see – we didn’t think-”

“You didn’t think?” Eidolon’s infuriated demeanor changes to downright hostile, “You are provided with state-of-the-art technology every single year and I know, Commander,” Eidolon seems to grow in height with every word until he’s towering over the bird in front of him. The Commander swears he sees the gates of hell open up behind the man, “I know that you use my droids and my technology to sit on your ass every day of the year. So what are you doing Commander, if you aren’t thinking?”

The Commander tries to give more excuses, but Eidolon doesn’t let him get far, “You withheld dangerous information from the public.”

“W-we-”

“You have yet to properly contain the leaders of the Organization.” Eidolon takes a step forward and the Commander scrambles to put space between them, as if that will protect him from Odin’s wrath.

“She-”

“And you have made a very serious and very fatal mistake that could cost us everything.” Eidolon snarls, backing the commander up against a building and cornering him.

“Are you going to answer my previous question, or shall I do it for you?” The taller bird hisses.

“I-I-I-”

“Nothing, Commander.” Eidolon fumes, “You were sitting on your ass and doing nothing.”

The Commander sinks to his knees, overwhelmed.

“Mr. Eidolon!” Lyla breaks through the tension like a wrecking ball through glass. No one had realized how quiet it had gotten, everyone straining to hear the altercation between the Chronocommander and the greatest man of the 23rd century, until she broke it.

The droid runs up with Geena, who had gone with Odin to check the black-market deal and was left behind with Lyla after the policewoman had informed Odin of the situation. Odin had stormed over to the commander as soon as Lyla finished her account.

“We might know where he is.” Geena says, pulling up calculations on her phone. Odin doesn’t calm, but he visibly reels himself in by stepping away from the commander and straightening his suit jacket, “What have you got?”

“My people have just located the clock and with your speculation on the criminals’ motives, I believe there’s a high chance of him being there.” Geena pulls up a map of the world, the holoimage of a green globe popping out of her phone. A red dot blinks over what used to be England.

“The same place we found him,” Lyla elaborates, “Stonehouse.”

…

He’s not going to tell them how the clock works. The “co-operate until give the chance to do otherwise” plan went out the window as soon as the woman asked. Not only does he not know how the thing works, he’s pretty sure the group of criminals is going to kill him once they figure that out. So he does the next best thing.

Donald is rambling on and on about the history of the clock, making it as long as he possibly can. The eyes of most of his kidnappers are glazed over, their guns have gone slack in their hands and one of them actually managed to fall asleep. The leader, who he was sure was going to stop him mid-story, is hanging onto every word.

That’s probably not a good thing, but he’ll take it.

The clock is cursed as most of the things Scrooge hunts for are. It was built as a gift from mother to daughter. The mother was a widow and rather than re-marry, she took up woodworking to support her and her children. Only her daughter had survived to adulthood and she caught the eye of a noble man who promised to wed her and give her a better life.

To celebrate their marriage, the mother spent hours upon hours on the clock. However, the townspeople believed the woman to be a witch and burned her the night after she bestowed the clock to her daughter and son-in-law. To make matters worse, the noble man was abusive to his wife and she suffered under his hands for years.

The clock witnessed it all and it was said that one day, it rewound time for the daughter. There’s speculation as to whether the day it rewound was happy one. Some believed the daughter first saw it as a blessing, but eventually came to see it as a constant torment until she eventually committed suicide to make it stop. Others said that the husband killed the daughter and the clock rewound time to save her, giving her the chance to escape her husband’s wrath. Whichever story was true, it was believed that the clock held at least one restless spirit in it.

It went by different names: The Mother Clock, The Time Turner, The Time Keeper, etc. but most knew it simply as The Clock.

It stands eternal against the passage of time, immune to the life that goes on around it and unassuming in its design. It is an inanimate god waiting and watching as reality stretches on and on and on.

“Excellent.”

A chill goes down Donald’s spine at the look in the leader’s eyes. She looks like Magica when she thinks she’s close to seizing his Uncle’s dime: manic grin stretching across her face, wide eyes gleaming with ambition, and radiating raw power from every inch of her body.

This woman wants the world in the palm of her hand, and she’ll stop at nothing to have it.

“This is exactly what we’ve been looking for.” The leader prowled over to the clock, crushing the budding plants beneath her feet to stroke the clock’s side, “With this, we will have absolute power. The Time Police will have to answer any demand we make.” She purred, “We can rebuild.”

“How does it work, duck?”

Oh boy, time to try to spout a bunch of crap and hope it works.

“You move the hands.” He tries. That’s what he did, so surely that’s how it works.

…right?

The leader turns her head to give him a steely gaze over her shoulder. He sweats under it for a long time before her attention switches to one of the other criminals.

“Johnson, come here.” Her tone brokers no argument and a goose hesitantly steps forward.

“Do it.” The goose gulps and lifts a trembling hand to the face of the clock. His fellow henchmen are tense, and the air is filled with anticipation. The large rooster with a metal eye and the leader, the calmest of the group, watch on with curiosity as the goose moves the hour hand to the two o’clock position.

Nothing happens.

“Slick!”

Ah, nothing happens to the goose.

A pig leaps away from the spot a henchman, the one called Slick, used to be.

“What happened?” The leader demands.

Donald doesn’t have an answer for her. He can’t tear his eyes away from the patch of grass that’s still pressed in the shape of two footprints.

“I asked you a question.” She growls at Donald, pulling out her gun and pointing it at him.

The rooster tenses, but Donald doesn’t notice.

Ironically, it’s the goose that saves him. Johnson, panicking over the death of his comrade, starts to move the hand around.

“Wha-” Slick reappears for a brief instant before Johnson moves the hand again.

“The he-” Slick pops in and out again.

“Sto-” in and out.

“For-” in and out.

“Stop!”

Johnson stops.

Slick is gone again.

“Move the hands back to where they were.” The leader says.

Johnson moves the hands back to the 12 o’clock position.

Slick comes back and doesn’t disappear this time. He wheezes when his feet land on the grass and stay there for more than a brief second. He’s not wearing the clothes that he was in before he disappeared. He’s in old fashioned clothes, the kind in history books, like he just got booted off the set of a Robin Hood or a King Arthur movie.

“I was in 1500 England!” Slick cries, “I can’t smell anything anymore!”

“Johnson!” The leader snaps, “What did you do?”

“I-I don’t-” Johnson flails under his leader’s burning eyes.

“Show me how you moved the hands.” She demands, and he does so.

“Hmm, 15th century at 3 o’clock…” She mutters and starts pacing back and forth, “There must be a pattern…”

The other henchmen crowd around Johnson as he recounts his experience, “First the 1400s, then the 1700s, then the 1800s! I thought I was going to lose my mind, they don’t even have hygiene back then!”

Donald remembered Johnson moved the hour hand to the 2 o’clock position first, followed by the 5 o’clock, and the 6 o’clock.

1400 at 2, 1500 at 3, 1700 at 5, 1800 at 6.

Donald stiffened.

No. But what if? Aw phooey. That was it, wasn’t it?

Military time.

It doesn’t answer why Slick was the one who was sent through time, but it’s enough.

Donald’s gaze drifts from the group of henchmen still crowding Slick, to the leader who is still pacing, to the rooster who seems to be lost in his own speculations.

He starts to slowly and quietly back away.

The leader’s head shoots up, “I’ve got it!”

Donald freezes and the henchmen stop chattering to give her their full attention. She pulls her gun out of its holster. The rooster next to Donald loses his relaxed posture.

“And now that I’ve got it. We don’t need you anymore.” She aims the gun at Donald’s head.

“That wasn’t the deal Sandra.” The rooster says, moving between Donald and the weapon.

Donald isn’t sure what’s going on, but he’s grateful that at least one person doesn’t want him dead.

“Stuff it, raider. He isn’t important.”

“You willing to take that bet?”

Sandra raises an eyebrow at the challenge.

“Time is too unstable to mess with right now and trust me, if you kill this child then we’re all going to be in deep trouble.” Donald blinks at Raider’s words, unable to grasp the weight of his statement.

“What do you know that I don’t?” Sandra’s eyes narrow.

Raider doesn’t answer. The two engage in a cold stare down and the henchmen move to point their guns at the rooster. Donald prepares himself for a fight.

Something rustles in the growth around them and everyone whirls on it. It’s only then Donald notices the silence. The birds have stopped chirping and the air is ominously still as if the plants around them are holding their breath.

The henchmen move away from their huddle and spread out over the area. Most leave the house ruins, while the rest take up position near the open areas. Only the north and west walls of the house are still standing, which leaves them vulnerable to the east and south. The neighboring houses, each in their own states of decay and ruin, provide little cover.

He hears a shout in the distance and the area explodes with sound as gun blasts surround them from every side. There’s nowhere to run.

Sandra curses with a growl, “How the hell did they find us so quickly?”

“Eidolon isn’t someone you should underestimate.” Raider responds

“He should have been more concerned with his mansion than some child!” Sandra aggressively starts firing out into the remains of the house across the street.

Raider snorts and a large feathered arm reaches over to shield Donald from the fighting going on around them. Donald shamelessly hides behind Raider’s larger form.

Sandra’s gun is shot out of her hand and she hisses as Time Policemen step into the ruins. Multiple guns are pointed at the three inside the house.

“Step away from the clock!” A Policeman orders and Donald pokes his head out from behind Raider, relieved to hear that familiar voice, “Lyla!”

Lyla’s attention doesn’t move from Raider or Sandra, but she does acknowledge him with a small grin and a “Hi, Donald.”

The Police behind her advance on the criminals, three heading towards Raider and two heading towards Sandra. Lyla is backed by the two policemen that don’t advance. Their guns are trained on the two criminals up until they’ve both got cuffs on and only then does Lyla hurry over to Donald.

“You’re alright?” She looks him over.

“I’m fine.” Donald nods.

They both relax for what feels like the first time in an eternity, a shared sigh of relief taking up the space between them.

And then of course, because Donald has all the bad luck in the world, Sandra starts snickering.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” She cackles as a large suit of armor emerges from the woods around them, “You’re late.”

The Green Armor towers over everyone, including Raider, a bright green light pulsing from the gaps in the armor and illuminating the area in a sickly green. It walks forward, its steps accented with a loud clunk and its cape waving gently behind it. The Armor’s forest green and jet-black helmet floats above the chest plate, a green mist writhing around inside it and occasionally oozing out of the eye sockets. There’s no one inside. Legs from both criminals and Time Police dangle over the Armor’s metal shoulder pads. Their groans don’t help the dread that’s rising in Donald’s chest.

The Armor throws down the beaten animals and unsheathes its long steel sword from its side. It’s only then Donald sees Odin among them.

The Armor draws its blade back, ready to slice its hostages in half.

“Hey, Ork! What are you doing?!” Sandra bellows.

“Code red! They robbed the museum! We need back up now!” Lyla yells into her communicator.

“It’s going to kill them!” Donald shouts, panic seizing his lungs. He’s moving before he knows it.

“Donald-” he hears Lyla protest behind him, but he can’t – he can’t - watch his best friend die.

He rams himself against the side of the armor and as it falls to the ground he wails on the helmet. Memories of a museum trip and a car crash whirl together with starry nights and chess pieces and he’s lost to his desperation and rage. How dare the Green Armor target one of the nicest people he’s ever met? How dare it revive itself after he knocked it’s head off a year ago? How dare – how – dare.

Green is smeared with red as his already split knuckles tear against the sharp edges of the armor. He knows the Armor’s weakness this time around and he gives it everything he’s got. His arm reels back and he throws his entire weight into the final blow that sends the helmet flying off.

The helmet bounces off a crumbling wall with a clatter and rolls until it finally comes to a stop in front of the clock. Donald sags against the armor, exhausted and wheezing. His hands shake from the strain he’s put them through. Lyla appears next to him and assesses the armor.

“What the hell just happened?” Sandra asks

Lyla growls, “You tell us!”

“What?” Sandra snaps back with a scowl, “You’ve never heard of a back up plan?”

“What?” Donald counters, “You’ve never tried to steal a possessed suit of armor?”

“Where’s Ork?” Sandra demands, changing the subject.

Donald hauls himself up off the limp armor while Lyla hovers around him in case he needs help. He kicks the armor with his foot, so everyone can hear the clattering of bone on metal, “Dead. If he put the armor on, his life force was used to revive the spirit.”

Odin sits up with a grunt of pain, holding his head in both hands. The other animals that had been knocked out by the Armor follow his lead and start to come back to consciousness. The Time Police are quick to re-arrest the criminals and help their comrades off the ground. 

Donald sinks to the ground next to Odin and leans against his side, grateful that he’s still alive. Lyla stays standing and huffs at the two males, “Never a dull moment with you two.” 

Soon they’ve got bandages wrapped around their white feathers and Lyla has walked off to go get the full story out of Sandra.

“Are you alright?” Donald mumbles tiredly

“Minor concussion.” Odin wraps an arm around his friend, “I was supposed to be the one saving you, not the other way around.”

Donald makes an amused noise, “Like you haven’t saved me enough this week.”

“It’s my favorite hobby.” Odin grins.

Donald chuckles before his mood sinks as the weight of reality comes crashing down on him, “I don’t think the clock can send me back.”

“You don’t?”

Donald shakes his head, “Sandra had one of her goons move the clock hands and the person who got sent through time only came back when the hands were moved back to twelve (12).”

Odin hums, “Then it’s up to your Uncle and Sister to get you back.”

“I think so.” Donald sighs.

“They’ll bring you back.” Odin reassures.

“No, that’s not-,” Donald fumbles, “I know they’ll bring me back. They can be mean to me sometimes, but I know they love me. I just-” He pouts, “I hate the idea of not being able to say goodbye.”

Odin gives him a sad, regretful look. “You always did hate that.”

“I don’t even know how long I have.” Donald whispers.

“It’s alright Donald.” Odin nudges him, “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Donald can’t help but smile a little at that.

“Donald!” Lyla cries, running back over to their spot on the ground, “You’ve only got until midnight!”

“What?!” The two bandaged ducks yelp.

“I was interrogating Slick and if his testimony is to be believed then you’ll only be here for four days. That ends tonight!” Lyla pulls out the gun in her holster and frantically starts messing with it.

“How much time do I have?” Donald panics, already doing the math in his head. The moon has been up for a long time, so it can’t be a lot.

“Only four minutes!”

“Four minutes!?”

“Donald listen to me!” Odin grabs Donald by his shoulders, stopping the younger duck from working himself up in what little time they have left.

“Your life is going to have a lot of ups and downs but trust me when I say that wherever you are now, it’s going to get better.” Grass green eyes meet ocean blue and there is little Donald can do in the face of such raw determination. He settles for a silent nod.

“I am so happy I got to see you again, my friend” Odin glances away, “and I am so sorry for what we have to do next.”

“Huh?” Worry and fear claw at his heart as the words leave Odin’s apologetic face.

“Donald.” Lyla says softly next to him, “You can’t remember this. Time is too unstable and…we’re going to have to erase your memories.”

They expect him to get mad, to yell at them, but instead he starts crying, “You…this whole time?”

Odin and Lyla meet each other’s regretful eyes, somehow the anger would have been so much easier to deal with. Leave it to Donald to defy their expectations (for better or for worse).

The two androids nod at the same time.

“And you were still so nice to me…” Donald sobs, “You could have been so mean to me…and I wouldn’t have remembered any of it…”

“Donald we would never-” Lyla reaches out to him but stops. They’re running out of time.

“It’s okay.” Donald sniffles. He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine, pulls his shoulders back, and pulls himself together.

Lyla points the gun at him as the seconds tick by.

3…

“Thank you.” He says to the two of them and the grin on his face shines brighter than the water in his eyes.

2…

“Goodbye.” He’ll lose his memories, but he knows there’s a part of him that will never forget them.

1…

Lyla pulls the trigger.

…

“Hey Donald?” Della asks one day, glancing over at him from her spot on the couch.

“Yeah?” He mutters into his closed hand, only half paying attention.

“Where’d you learn to play chess?”

Donald blinks.

“You know…” He pulls himself away from the one-sided chess match in front of him. “I have no idea.”

The End


End file.
